The Devil's Monopoly
by vanillamilk
Summary: (contains SLASH) It's 1997, the war is over, and Harry is not the cheery, shy boy he used to be. His new jaded and often aggressive attitude is not only worrying his friends and Professors, but himself. After discovering new friendship in the strangest of


**Thank you to my wonderful beta Alfie - love you as always!**

The Devil's Monopoly

Chapter One

Harry didn't know how many times he had gazed at those staircases, those interchanging, heavy, moving pieces of contraption, wondering what it would be like just to... fall off.

He also wondered what people would _do_, if he decided he _wanted_ to walk down the steps slowly, waiting for that sickening shake whenever the staircase decided to switch direction, before taking the last step and falling fifty metres downward onto the main entrance hall with its gleaming white marble flooring with a deafening, _death_ening thud, bones cracking, blood spilling, heavenly whiteness all around-

People would probably cry, he thought. Scream. And without a doubt, he would be saved. Of course he would be _saved_ - he was Harry Potter. He had to be saved, everyone's life once depended on it, it didn't matter if his own did.

"Harry, _move_."

Harry swallowed and turned in a dazed circle, blinking a few times before Ginny's sharp gaze came into focus. He tried to ask her why, say anything, actually, but somehow he couldn't get his mouth to work.

Eventually, a muffled buzz of voices tuned into Harry's consciousness, and as if by magic, his foot jerked upwards and he continued walking towards the staircase that led to Gryffindor Tower.

_Last year. It's your last year. The sooner you get up there, the sooner it'll be over._

Once inside the common room, Harry realised how much things had changed since he last stepped in here. Everything seemed... smaller. Not that Harry was getting bigger, apparently whatever Gods looked over him had decided that five feet six inches was a nice, reasonable size for him. No... everything was smaller, less significant. The leather chairs, the fireplace and grate where he had once chatted so conspicuously to Sirius, the red and gold rugs covering the stone floors, the portraits, the armour... everything. They just seemed unimportant and uninteresting to him now, different to when he first arrived here, tiny and bright eyed and full of awe.

He was still rather short for his seventeen years, but his eyes were not bright. Not anymore.

Sighing, Harry trudged up three flights of winding stairs and into his new, Seventh Year dormitory. The top floor. He'd made it.

Eyes fixed on the clock tower window, the hard black sweep of the pinnacle of the clock and three large roman numerals indicating the number twelve, Harry bent down to rest his trunk against his new bed and walked silently across the room until his forehead touched the discoloured glass, fingers coming up to rest on the stone sill at his side.

"... hey, looks like Harry's settled in already." The thick Irish accent echoed throughout the room, followed by the huffs and puffs of Harry's three roommates as they dragged their trunks inside and practically tumbled into the room behind him.

Harry used his grip on the windowsill to push himself away from the glass, turning round to face his friends, a weak, overused smile already plastered to his face, one he knew Ron could probably see right through.

"Looks like it," he said in subdued tones, watching as Dean and Seamus started an argument about what bed they wanted. His gaze flickered to Ron, who was already approaching him. He wanted to push his hands out, tell him to go away, but they lay limply at his sides.

"Seventh year, mate," Ron said, his voice painfully forced. Harry knew he was trying with all his might to be cheerful. To make Harry cheerful.

"Yep," Harry replied, the tugging at the corner of his lips starting to waver. The fifth bed in the corner looked so empty, ignored. Neville would have hated sleeping on the top floor, anyway.

Ron's chest heaved in a deep breath, his ears pink at the tips as his gaze dithered and blinked until it eventually snapped to his trunk that lay in a dishevelled heap next to the bed furthest from the window, the bed next to Harry's. "Well... I, err, better unpack!" And with that, the redhead had jerked forcefully away to his belongings, his jolly falsetto tone stumbling in his wake.

The hand on the tabletop lay close enough to Draco's to touch, the edge of his palm just brushing against that of Blaise Zabini's.

They ate in silence, sat through Dumbledore's speech in silence. Everything was so damn silent now that Draco wanted to scream, to let people hear him again because he needed to be heard, he needed to be accepted.

Pansy, Vince, Gregory... all of his former friends sat huddled together, as far as they could get, away from the two boys at the end of the table, who looked so dejected and stupid and silent.

"Fuck them," Blaise murmured beside Draco, following the blond's gaze across the table. "Fuck the lot of them, if they're going to be like that."

Draco sighed and closed his eyes, scooping up the remains of his mashed potatoes and shovelling them in his mouth.

_Last year. It's your last year. The sooner you learn to tolerate, the sooner it'll be over._

"Looks like Potter's not in the best of moods..." Blaise commented, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he nodded towards the table ahead.

Draco followed his gaze and glared at the small, dark head huddled between his chattering friends, staring hollowly into his empty dinner plate. He felt his stomach twist painfully, a sneer grow across his lips. How come Harry was allowed so freely to brood, to stew in his own anger without being shunned for it? It wasn't fair. Harry fucking Potter always got his way, was always one up on Draco. Because as soon as Draco decided that he was better than his housemates in sixth year, it was as if someone had slapped an 'I'm not cool anymore, no one is permitted to talk to me' sign on his back. All the while poor Harry Potter was comforted by friends from nearly every house, mollycoddled by Professors and given the special treatment. It wasn't fucking fair.

Draco was snapped out of his daze by a sharp shove to his right, causing his fork to fall from his fingers and onto the floor with a clatter.

"Move it, Malfoy, we don't have all day," Vince Crabbe sneered, kneeing Draco's back for effect. Draco felt a hot flush run over his face and neck as he stood unsteadily, giving Crabbe a dirty look before stepping out from under the bench as the rest of the hall began to file out. The feast was apparently over.

"Always so eloquent, Crabbe," Blaise drawled as he slid into step with Draco, glancing behind him at the group of seventh years who had once been their allies.

"Some of us want to get to our dorms before sun down, Zabini," Pansy shot back acidly, before shoving past the pair, the rest of the throng following suit, nearly causing Draco to stumble into Blaise who deftly caught his arm.

_Thick as thieves_, Draco thought with a faint smile. _That's what we were_. Blood supremacy was stronger than ever at Hogwarts. Draco Malfoy was a blood traitor. Blood runs thicker, they say.

Draco chose to ignore the muddle of whispers and jeers from surrounding students as Blaise smoothed his hand over his arm, before guiding him out of the hall. He knew what the whispers were, knew they were directed at him in particular. He had heard enough of them now to recognise the overused and sometimes colourful names he was called. He knew them because they were true.

"_In_ the cauldron, Potter..._ in_-oh, for Heaven's sake..." Severus Snape was at the end of his tether with Harry Potter as the boy unceremoniously dropped the burning hot dragon's egg with a yelp on the table, its shell fracturing with a loud crack, gooey green and orange yolk splattering all over the dark wood.

"What did I tell you?" Severus drawled impatiently, his lips pursing as to not say something he might regret.

"To put the dragon's egg in the cauldron," Harry muttered, wiping his burnt hand on his work-robes.

"Maybe, Mr Potter, it would be wise to put on some gloves before handling the dragon's eggs?" Severus watched as the corner of Harry's lips dipped, the boy's eyes closing before scanning over the mess he had made on the desk.

"Mr Malfoy, help Potter clean this mess up," Severus said dismissively, waving a hand in the general direction of Draco's desk.

"But _sir_-" Draco started, peering over his protective glasses, one hand hovering over his own cauldron as if summoning a spell.

"_Now_," Severus barked, turning to walk over to survey Granger's attempts with her potion.

He heard the blond boy huff audibly before slamming his glasses on the desk, a whoosh of air as he walked behind Severus to get to Potter.

In honesty, Severus hated ordering the boy around like that in class, but it was his job. And of course, in his opinion, Draco needed the discipline. The boy still had a lot of growing up to do, despite the fact that he had shown great responsibility during those bleak months of the war, helping and working with Severus in determination, if not for the goal of helping the Order, but proving to himself that he _could_.

"Miss Granger..." Severus began, pivoting himself around her desk. He kept one eye on the boys at the front of the classroom as Hermione ran through her work with him, keeping himself alert for any malevolent behaviour which had become quite a ritual for the boys already this year.

"Potter, you are the_ limit_," Draco muttered as he turned the gas off on the other boy's cauldron, throwing a rag in the direction of Harry's chest and watching as the Gryffindor caught it deftly.

"How was I supposed to know that they were as hot as that?" Harry mumbled, the burn on his hand stinging as he began to scoop up the goo on the desk and wipe the table top, watching as the effect only caused the yolk to spread further over the cracks and grain of the desk, making it look soggy and unclean.

"They're _dragon's_ eggs, Potter," Draco said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and Harry was the most clueless. "Dragons breathe fire. It's common sense, you idiot."

Harry tried his best to ignore the condescending tone in the other boy's voice, feeling it run through his veins like poison. He sneered and continued to wipe at the yolk, determined not to look at Draco's face.

"I don't know why you insisted on taking Advanced Potions this year," the blond said. "It's a bit out of your league, in my opinion."

"Since when has your opinion ever mattered, Malfoy?" Harry said angrily, slapping the sodden cloth onto the desk.

Draco met his eyes, his cool, grey gaze calm. "Since always, Potter," Draco spat, a small smile tugging at his lips, his own cloth abandoned on the table top as his arms came up to fold over his own chest.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, agitated. If Malfoy was trying to start a fight, here, in the middle of fucking class, then he had another thing coming.

Rolling his eyes, Draco turned back to wiping the desk down and said nothing. It took all of Harry's strength not to grab him by his ridiculously expensive work robes and slam his face into his knee.

Harry's hands were shaking as he fumbled with the battered packet of cigarettes he had stolen from his uncle's stash, cheap yellow Muggle lighter clasped between his thumb and middle finger as he finally managed to undo the carton flap, a long white stick already peeping out from the others ready to be grasped by Harry's dry lips.

Stuffing the packet back in his jeans, Harry curled his free hand over the cigarette to protect it from the wind as right thumb flicked numbly at the lighter, sparking up the smoke that sucked into Harry's mouth before pluming out through his nostrils and into the night air.

At first it had just been a couple of cigarettes a week, experimenting with the unusual red and white packs he often saw sticking out from Uncle Vernon's shirt pocket. He was now smoking a twenty-pack a week.

Squinting out into the distance, Harry watched as the murky water of the lake rippled with the wind, the sky changing hues from dark green to blue then eventually black, a few dotted stars twinkling in the distance. The bark from the tree behind him sat snug against his back, slightly damp from the rain earlier in the afternoon.

He had made it a week.

If he was being honest with himself, Harry thought that he wouldn't last a day back in that school, the memories from the year before enough to drive him out, push him away, never to come back. But he had proved himself wrong. He was going to make it. He had to. Ho owed it to Dumbledore, he owed it to his friends, and those who had died saving him.

"Well, well, out after curfew, Potter?" The voice was familiar, but the once sharp drawl was almost unrecognisable now, it had gone... lazy. Almost uncaring and unnaturally casual.

Harry nudged himself away from the tree and turned to face Draco, who was standing a few metres away wrapped in a smart black coat and a tight black woolly hat, long shards of pale blond hair gathering round his neck and throat. Harry took a deep drag from his cigarette.

"And smoking?" Draco said, eyebrows raising. "Tut, tut."

Harry closed his eyes. Did he really have the patience for this?

"Yes and yes, Malfoy," Harry said dully, flicking some ash from the tip of his cigarette.

Draco pursed his lips. "As a prefect I have every right to take you to the Headmaster's office," he sighed. "But you know what he'd say. Fuck! He probably knows you're out here. You're allowed, because you're Harry Potter, am I correct?"

"Yes," Harry ground out, his free hand digging into his pocket and curling in the fabric of his jeans.

"Not with your friends? Oh yes, I _forgot_. Weasley and Granger are shacking up now, aren't they?" Draco said, a strange glint forming in his eyes.

"Malfoy, is this some twisted way to satisfy your own anger with your housemates by making fun of me?" Harry said lazily. "And, by the way, not doing a very good job of it."

"Shut your face, Potter, you don't know everything," Draco barked angrily, moving a little closer.

Harry grinned inwardly.

_Ah, found the weak spot. Now all I have to do is push it a little and maybe the bugger will sod off._

"I've seen the way they look at you now, Malfoy," Harry continued, watching as Draco bristled slightly, his eyes bright in the moonlight. "It's as if you're dirt. And I sure as hell don't care if you're on our side now, I made that pretty clear last year, right?" Draco took another step forward, fists clenched. "But they care. You thought they would follow you, didn't you Malfoy? Like disciples. You think you're their Jesus. Bet it came as a bit of a shock when they turned out to be human-"

Before Harry had a chance to finish his sentence, a sharp jab of pain licked at his jaw, twirling him around and causing his cigarette to bounce from his fingers and onto the damp earth.

"I told you to shut your face, Potter!" Draco snarled from behind him. Harry whipped around, his hand bracing his bruised jaw.

"Wow. Five points for the fag," Harry spat. It was a phrase he would be disgusted hearing himself say last year, but now, he really didn't seem to care.

_Hit me again, Draco. Make me bleed, because it feels so fucking good to feel again..._

Draco's face went ashen, and he took a minute or two to lash out again, this time slapping Harry hard across the face, causing Harry to bite his lip and tear it with a sickening crunch. The warm coppery taste of his own blood filled his mouth as he retaliated and grabbed the blond by both shoulders, shoving him hard.

Draco stumbled backwards but did not fall over. His chest was heaving and his eyes were bright. "Leave me alone," he hissed, before turning on his heel and running towards the castle.

Harry's held his hand to his split lip before pulling back, the blood on his fingers looking black in the moonlight. Two metres away, his cigarette sparked and burned out as the first drops of rain began to pour.

**end of chapter one**


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